“So you arrested him and took him to the nearby Malibu station?”

“No, I transported him all the way to the county jail in downtown, where he could be placed on the psych level.”

“How long did that take? The drive, I mean.”

“About an hour.”

“And then you drove back to Malibu?”

“No, first I had four-alpha repaired. Wyms had fired a shot that took out the side lamp. While I was downtown, I went to the motor pool and had it replaced. That took up the rest of my shift.”

“So when did the car return to Malibu?”

“At shift change. I turned it over to the day-watch guys.”

I looked down at my notes.

“That would have been deputies… Murray and Harber?”

“That’s right.”

Stallworth yawned and there was murmured laughter in the courtroom.

“I know we have you past your bedtime, Deputy. I won’t take too much longer. When you turn the car over from shift to shift, do you clean it out or disinfect the car in any way?”

“You’re supposed to. Realistically, unless you’ve got puke in the backseat, nobody does that. The cars get taken out of rotation once or twice a week and the motor guys clean them up.”

“Did Eli Wyms puke in your car?”

“No, I would’ve known.”

More murmured laughter. I looked down from the lectern at Golantz and he wasn’t smiling at all.

“Okay, Deputy Stallworth, let me see if I got this right. Eli Wyms was arrested for shooting at you and firing at least ninety-three other shots that morning. He was arrested, his hands were cuffed behind his back and he was transported by you downtown. Do I have all of that right?”

“Sounds right to me.”

“In the video, Mr. Wyms can be seen in the rear passenger side seat. Did he stay there for the whole hour-long ride downtown?”

“Yes, he did. I had him belted in.”

“Is it standard procedure to place someone who is in custody on the passenger side?”

“Yes, it is. You don’t want him behind you when you’re driving.”

“Deputy, I also noticed on the tape that you did not place Mr. Wyms’s hands in plastic bags or anything of that nature before placing him in your patrol car. Why is that?”

“Didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Why?”

“Because it was not going to be an issue. The evidence was overwhelming that he had fired the weapons in his possession. We weren’t worried about gunshot residue.”

“Thank you, Deputy Stallworth. I hope you can go get some sleep now.”

I sat down and left the witness for Golantz. He slowly got up and took the lectern. He knew exactly where I was going now but there was little he was going to be able to do to stop me. But I had to give him credit. He found a small crack in my direct and tried his best to exploit it.

“Deputy Stallworth, approximately how long did you wait for your car to be repaired at the downtown motor hub?”

“About two hours. They only have a couple guys work midnight watch and they were juggling jobs down there.”

“Did you stay with the car for those two hours?”

“No, I grabbed a desk in the office and wrote up the arrest report on Wyms.”

“And you testified earlier that no matter what the procedure is supposed to be, you generally rely on the motor pool to keep the fleet cars clean, is that correct?”

“Yes, correct.”

“Do you make a formal request or do people working in the motor hub just take it upon themselves to clean and maintain the car?”

“I’ve never made a formal request. It just gets done, I guess.”

“Now, during those two hours that you were away from the car and writing the report, do you know if the employees in the motor hub cleaned or disinfected the car?”

“No, I do not.”

“They could have and you wouldn’t necessarily know about it, right?”

“Right.”

“Thank you, Deputy.”

I hesitated but got up for redirect.

“Deputy Stallworth, you said it took them two hours to repair the car because they were short-handed and busy, correct?”

“Correct.”

He said it in a boy-am-I-getting-tired-of-this tone.

“So it is unlikely that these guys would have taken the time to clean your car if you didn’t ask, right?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask them.”

“Did you specifically ask them to clean the car?”

“Nope.”

“Thank you, Deputy.”

I sat down and Golantz passed on another round.

It was now almost noon. The judge adjourned for lunch but gave the jury and lawyers only a forty-five-minute break as he sought to make up for time lost during the morning. That was fine with me. My star witness was next and the sooner I got her on the stand, the closer my client was going to be to a verdict of acquittal.

Forty-nine

Dr. Shamiram Arslanian was a surprise witness. Not in terms of her presence at the trial – she had been on the witness list longer than I had been on the case. But in terms of her physical appearance and personality. Her name and pedigree in forensics conjured an image of a woman deep, dark and scientific. A white lab coat and hair ironed back in a knot. But she was none of that. She was a vivacious, blue-eyed blonde with a cheerful disposition and easy smile. She wasn’t just photogenic. She was telegenic. She was articulate and confident but never came close to being arrogant. The one-word description for her was the one-word description every lawyer wants for every one of his witnesses: likable. And it was rare to get that in a witness delivering your forensic case.

I had spent most of the weekend with Shami, as she preferred to be called. We had gone over the gunshot residue evidence in the Elliot case and the testimony she would give for the defense, as well as the cross-examination she could expect to receive from Golantz. This had been delayed until so late in the game to avoid discovery issues. What my expert didn’t know she couldn’t reveal to the prosecutor. So she was kept in the dark about the magic bullet until the last possible moment.

There was no doubt that she was a celebrity gun for hire. She had once hosted a show about her own exploits on Court TV. She was asked twice for her autograph when I took her to dinner at the Palm and was on a first-name basis with a couple of TV execs who visited the table. She charged a celebrity-level fee as well. For four days in Los Angeles to study, prepare and testify she would receive a flat rate of $10,000 plus expenses. Nice work if you could get it, and she could. She was known to study the many requests for her time and to choose only those in which she steadfastly believed there had been a grievous error committed or a miscarriage of justice. It also didn’t hurt if you had a case that was getting the attention of the national media.

I knew after spending the first ten minutes with her that she was going to be worth every penny Elliot would pay her. She would be double trouble for the prosecution. Her personality was going to win over the jury, and her facts were going to seal the deal. So much of trial work comes down to who is testifying, not what the testimony actually reveals. It’s about selling your case to the jury, and Shami could sell burnt matches. The state’s forensic witness was a lab geek with the personality of a test tube. My witness had hosted a television show called Chemically Dependent.

I heard the low hum of recognition in the courtroom as my big-haired witness made her entrance from the back, holding all eyes as she walked up the center aisle, through the gate and across the proving grounds to the witness stand. She wore a navy blue suit that fit her curves snugly and accentuated the cascade of blonde curls over her shoulders. Even Judge Stanton seemed infatuated. He asked the courtroom deputy to get her a glass of water before she had even taken the oath. He hadn’t asked the state’s forensic geek if he had wanted jack shit.

After she gave her name and spelled it and took the oath to tell nothing but the truth, I got up with my legal pad and went to the lectern.